Satisfied to stay

i mentioned in my last post that i'd done some back-reading in journals past, and the words, both mine and borrowed, have been a balm. i've been able to remember where i've come, the darkness that felt at the time to overtake my spirit, and i fought hard against heart and flesh, both. i was in love with an idol and the worship alone broke me into pieces. i could not be content because i was trying to obey two masters. when the altar was taken down, the tears poured out angrily and the hands stayed balled, clutching sheets hard to self, and i wrestled, prayed for a return to the past.

a girlfriend whispered the dangers of "clinging to egypt's bondage" and i wandered soul-lost for many months.

then.

i began meeting with her, and she opened my eyes up to see the truth and to see the good in the breaking. she helped me remember where worship belonged, and she guided me prayerfully-wrapped to seek Him again, fall back in love with Love.
these words were penciled in those years ago, words from a book she'd written and which she was having me read:
contentment is an "inward grace given by God that results in a mindset of being satisfied to stay in your circumstances for as long as God wills." it is truly preferring a single, solitary day in His courts, even as a doorman, than to spend lifetimes in the kingdoms of the idols.
it means rest. resting in His grace, His promise to keep, His will, His pierced hands.
if you had told me (and some did try) that i could move on from that sick, ill-sighted love and that i'd one day believe the God of the universe holds me in his hand, i would not have agreed. i was not willing to stay in His will for me then if it meant heartbreak, waking up every morning with disappointment clenching my breast.

i wake up today a different woman, and only by His doing.
yes, i discovered another love along the way, but i am also learning to let go of self and my own will. it is finally figuring out that to stay in the gates of His will is the perfect place, the still waters that quench a soul thirst, so i rest in Him.

won't you click the button below and join in as we talk about the spiritual grace of rest this month?

The counting

today i continue to count blessings, and am humbled to be called His.

11. ever thankful for the grace that holds us together, like glue
12. knowing that grace for the first time in my spiritual walk as true
13. for finding my voice
14. and being left speechless (praise for the opportunity to have that HARD conversation with my mom)
15. for a husband who holds me tighter when my inclination is to push away
16. and time alone with sister
17. for praise and worship on the radio, constant reminder
18. and the stirrings of prayer inside that are new and freeing
19. for rereading words written 6 years ago as stones of remembrance from whence i came (and so far i've come!) as well as
20. wise words of counsel
22. especially from my Christina who has shared more wisdom that i still cling to than just about anyone i know
23. for learning to forgive myself and others
24. and seeing glimpses of the big picture
25. and most importantly for being reminded that He loves me, sustains me, and has brought morning from night, just as he promised.

Give thanks to the LORD, for his love endures forever. ~2 Chron. 20:21b

Speechless

she said it, admitted it. i am jonah under a shade palm, fearing nineveh and the hardness in my heart, knowing full well i belong there, preaching a gospel of Good News. knowing the outcome.

a few short weeks of halting, cautious phone calls, the how'reyous and long pauses and static air on more than just the line, we went There. we crossed the comfortable limit, we talked about him. she didn't want to, insisting there is no present in the past, and i fight, but there's no present without the past, and so i shyly, insistently, suggest i'd never had my say. and she said,

"you're right. i never believed you when you were younger."

my heart freezes, tears drip hot. i've longed for these words, but they make me hurt in a blinding way, and i don't know how to hold the universe in. breathe.

we talk about the sticky grace, and i'm reminded all over of ann's post on forgiveness.

the boys watch a favorite tv show and the cat comes to nuzzle a foot, and i wonder how can all this normal be, when she's telling me the reality didn't match the princess she finally believed herself to be? she felt alive and full and knightly woo'd, and when we told her he hurt us, she couldn't believe. he wouldn't let her, and so silence won for years.

but today we courted the words, danced shakily around that one word louder than all others, abuse, and she cries tears that i seem to feel wet on my own cheek.

life intervenes (when did normal become ironic?), and it's time to return to hungry boys and rush to lifegroup, but she asks if we have time to pray, if we have time to practice sticky grace, and my heart rebelled, no...i'm not ready for this yet, i'm not ready. glue. she prays for healing, and i stream silent and whisper amen, and the phone clicks and i shake. it was easier before. silence was righteous and proud and i knew my way home, but now i'm in a foreign country and i can't read the signs and i don't know where i'm going, but i'm jonah called to preach. to live grace that's not mine to harbor, for as meg says, at the foot of the cross it's all level.

i'm torn. i hope. i fear. i'm angry and excited. prayers would be welcome.

Glue

"Man is born broken. He lives by mending. The grace of God is glue." Eugene O'Neill

"yes," i think as i read these words, re-quoted by anne lamott. i know broken. do i know the mending? i must, for i breathe and i have little ones and i am loved.

He mends as i wash dishes, scrape stuck-on food bits, even as he scrapes my heart raw in the desire to know He is real.
He heals as i correct boy-anger, seeing myself reflected back, hear the rebuke to be careful in my anger.
Pieces my broken heart as i seek counsel, one who points to a better Counselor, as i find a new rhythm to daily carrying a cross and what forgiveness looks like in the small things.

grace is mercy and cake extended to the friend who never showed yesterday but did today.
it is the wanting to push dirty kids away from the baby, but saying, "look, can't you see, he's smiling at you?" it's the powerful urge to protect little sister still being hurt by her parents, and trying to figure out my place in this new triangle. the glue is sticky and confounding, but it holds us together. it's a husband who knows my dark fears and sheds light and love, a soul-sister who calls at just the right time in my loneliness, a cloudy day when heat has been so oppressive.

the glue makes no sense, like a big Dada-ist collage of broken pieces and misshapen hearts, and some overlap and some have holes, and it all just works somehow because the glue is grace, invisibly, powerfully adhesive.

One

cake, cooling. little hands helping and this mama grouches, snaps that it's not help.

the phone call, unexpected playdate: why not? it would help to get little feet running and out from under.
she didn't show up.
my heart turns toward bitter and i mutter my perceived worth-less.
how did she forget so soon? how could she plan, then fail?

it's littlest one's birthday. zesty cake waits for siblings and cousins to share, and i foresee smoky birthday song and frosting mustaches and torn bits of paper, surprise beneath. my heart is full for the want to share, invite the whole world to such an occasion! but there is no one who knows. who knows his expressions, his demanding for attention, his belly grabbing laugh? that his existence matters so much and our world wouldn't be the same without him?

we've felt stood up before. we've felt unknown, forgotten. two years in newish place has not yet yielded depth and intimacy.

but He knows today. He knit fibrous muscle and skeleton and soul into my not-so-tiny babe, long before i got the pleasure of meeting him one year ago today. He has not forgotten us, despite our oft-forgetting Him.

thank you, Father, for GOOD GIFTS: for my avery turning one today, and for husband and big brother love. even for lime cake and the best aunt in the world to love on my boys. and above all, for a love that draws me in.

Building for the next generation

my beautiful soul-sister and i cling to each other and this truth: that we choose to be different than our parents, and that we can have victory in Him. it is enough. she and i know the faults buried deep inside that are products of broken parents, and she found a verse as her own new family was forming:
After I looked things over, I stood up and said to the nobles, the officials and the rest of the people, "Don't be afraid of them. Remember the Lord, who is great and awesome, and fight for your brothers, your sons and your daughters, your wives and your homes." (Nehemiah 4:14)

the significance was that we are not defending or rebuilding the past; we are staking a claim on and protecting the future.
i grab his hands at night and wrap his arms around me, resting in his warmth and dormant strength. we face our children, sleeping loudly, sharing our nighttime space, the respite from trucks and cheerios and dora and "no," and we protect them, weaving prayer lines, staking our claim. it is enough.

i am doubling my entry for this week's ShoutLaughLove as well as tuesdays unwrapped!

come play!

Forgiveness: a conversation

talking to her about the weather
when i really want to ask about Our Winter,
the time when life was untilled &
the future felt infertile.
ask her about the past &
how it wore her down, if at all
but we talk about her garden &
her health, the kids she doesn't know.
she mentioned weakness a luxury
& i secretly disagreed
but didnt' want to rock the boat
so i feigned agreement, "mmmm."
we didn't mention him
or Him
& i know we fear talking both.
how do we move past work & play
to Truth?
how do we move, if at all?
i'm weak, broken,
& it's not luxurious-
it's the weight of the world &
the cross,
today i carry it,
& pray.